


Remedy

by Brynncognito



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M, Flashbacks, Non-Explicit Sex, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Time War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-01
Updated: 2012-01-01
Packaged: 2017-11-13 22:34:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/508451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brynncognito/pseuds/Brynncognito
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Doctor and Rose are attacked by Sontarans on Satellite 5 -- sometime before "Bad Wolf." The Doctor experiences a flashback to the Time War.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Remedy

The Doctor is panting, a sheen of sweat on his face as he slumps against the wall, slipping down, down, and all the way to the floor. In the distance come the angry cries of Sontarans, the firing of high-tech weaponry, and muffled explosions. He’s shaking now, knees drawn tight to his chest, fingers fumbling in their attempts to grasp desperately at leather on either side of his torso. Maybe he’s trying to keep himself from falling apart altogether.

“Doctor?” The voice sounds almost too distant to register at all, especially over the galloping cadence of his hearts. His blue eyes are wide with shock, yet glazed and unfocused, seeing not the pinched, worried features of his companion but countless legions of Daleks; hearing not the Sontaran war cry but the screams of millions of Time Lords as their planet burned. But he has enough self-awareness yet to realize his bypass has kicked in. He’s not breathing, and if even he keeps it up, he’ll eventually lose consciousness. That thought is terrifying enough to jolt him at least partway back to the present, his gasping breaths painfully loud in his own ears.

“Doctor? What’s wrong?” Rose’s fingers are outstretched, he realizes, just a few inches from his face. She’s trembling, even, and seems afraid to close that distance just yet. He’s scaring her. With an act of raw willpower, therefore, the Time Lord grasps her hand, clutching it hard enough to make her wince, but she doesn’t complain. Not his brave, _wonderful_ Rose.

“Go,” he forces out, forcing himself to meet her gaze, to keep himself in the present for just this moment. He’s never had a better motivation, but already he’s slipping, each nearer explosion drawing a nervous flicker of his gaze. “Go back to the TARDIS and initiate Emergency Protocol One.” She shoots him a questioning, worried, distrustful look, already opening her mouth to argue — that’s his Rose, alright — but he quickly raises his voice over her. “Don’t worry about me. The TARDIS and I are connected.” It’s not technically a lie, but close enough in its lack of application to this situation to bring to mind what he’ll call “rule one” two regenerations later. Swallowing down her retort — for once — Rose nods, giving his strong, calloused hand a tight squeeze before she’s dashing off, into another corridor and out of sight.

The Doctor allows himself a dark chuckle, then. At least she’ll be safe, when he can’t protect her — possibly couldn’t even if he wasn’t so hopelessly damaged by the Time War’s effects on his psyche. Still, he can’t make himself regret extending that invitation, then coming back the second time, can’t regret having _her_.

An explosion sounds next closer, suddenly, and he flinches, Dalek weaponry flashing through his mind. His hearts have coaxed each other into an even heavier, more frantic gait, and adrenaline surges through his veins. Ignoring his body’s biological urges to get away, _now_ , his biology’s desperate warning that if he doesn’t do something, he’s going to die, he closes his eyes, just waiting now, thinking only of her — well, as much as his cracked psyche will allow, anyway. But when the footsteps come, they sound different than expected — wrong, even, the strides too long, the steps too light. Then an impossibly familiar, warm, _human_ hand is grabbing his, and he hears an impatient, frantic “Come on!”

It doesn’t quite hit him that he’s alive, that she came back for him, that she saved him, in an even more real sense than she has already, until they’re safe, back in the TARDIS. He’s dimly aware that she’s asking him if he’s alright, or something to that effect, that her hands are desperately clutching his jacket, her eyes brimming with tears. He even makes himself watch her lips’ movements, hoping that will make it easier to decipher what sounds like meaningless noise to him right now, translation circuit and nine centuries’ worth of knowledge or not. And now, all he can think of is her lips.

Somewhere between crushing those lips with his own and ripping clothing, scattered buttons, gasps and moans and reverent whispers, the Doctor forgets to ask what happened. Maybe he forgets on purpose, just _loses_ himself in her.

In the end, he never finds out that she put those gymnastic abilities to good use for his benefit for the second time, that she took out the Sontaran commander and forced the rest of them back to their ship with him at gunpoint. He never finds out how Satellite 5 was saved for the second, but ultimately not last, time. He never asks, though something in his awed, _loving_ touch makes her think he suspects. But under the circumstances, she doesn’t care too much one way or the other. Because he’s safe — her Doctor — and she is with him.


End file.
